


My Next Mistake

by Chash



Series: Don't Say I Didn't Warn You [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 01:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13260918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy knows it's weird, to be upset about living happily ever after. And it's not like he's actually upset about it, not really. It's mostly that he's happy, which is great, and he doesn't know where to go from here. Even Clarke has more of a plan than he does, and she'sClarke.His diamond shoes are also too tight.





	My Next Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [hedaoftheskaikru](https://hedaoftheskaikru.tumblr.com/)!

“I think I have a career,” says Clarke, in the same way other people might say  _I think I have cancer_. Well, not quite  _that_  bad; there’s more shock than upset in her tone, a kind of disbelief that something like this could happen to someone like her. Pregnancy might be a better analogy, something that could be good or bad but she’s too surprised to know yet.

Regardless, he mostly finds it hilarious. “Did you not know? I thought you knew or I would have told you.”

He does get why Clarke is surprised about her career in general, he’s just not sure why it hit her  _now_. A few months after they got married, she started a webcomic, something that’s half slice of life and half weird doodles of mythical creatures doing errands, and somehow it really took off. Raven deserves a lot of the credit for the initial jump in popularity, since Clarke is incapable of figuring out online self promotion, but once she got enough instagram followers, she stopped really needing to do much. She’s made some merchandise and takes commissions, and has enough that she can pay Raven to help with her with her homepage and other stuff.

It’s not a great career, not making her rich, but it’s enough that she’s gotten rid of most of her part-time jobs and is making a living as something like a professional artist.

It is definitely very weird and confusing; he just assumed that she would have noticed that sooner.

“I keep waiting for someone to notice I’m not actually funny,” Clarke admits.

“You’re kind of funny,” he says, and she laughs.

“Thanks, babe. Your support always means the world to me.”

He raises his arm and she tucks herself under it, snuggling in. “I think you’re funny,” he says. “But a lot of the comic is kind of–absurd,” he finally says. “It’s not about making jokes, it’s about being fucking weird. As it turns out, people think our lives are just kind of inherently funny. Which they are. You’re not coasting on unearned success here, Clarke. You work hard on your art, I know you do.”

“I know. This just wasn’t really what I pictured myself doing, I guess. I thought making it as an artist was going to be–”

“Your art hanging in a museum.”

“Something I could show my mom to prove I made the right choice.”

“And you can’t show her the webcomic?”

“I could tell her about the book.”

Bellamy freezes. “The book?”

“That’s how I know I have a career, yeah. Raven just told me. A publisher is interested in putting together a print version of the webcomic, with some exclusive content, a certain percentage of new strips, stuff like that. The email has all the details.”

“So you already agreed?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Do you not think I should do it?”

He laughs and tugs her closer. “No, of course I think that. Honestly, I’m just amazed you kept it quiet.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can keep secrets. And it wasn’t hard, I got most of the emails while you were at work. It did kind of suck to not tell you, but I got advice from Raven. And I figured it would be, you know. Cool.”

“It is cool. I’m really proud of you. Do I need to do anything? What’s your deadline? When does it get published?”

Clarke laughs, soft, and kisses his shoulder. “We’ve still got a while to go. I’m probably going to be a mess for a while while I try to get everything done.”

“You?” he teases. “A mess? What a concept.”

“Shut up. A new kind of mess. A mess with  _purpose_. I’m turning over a new mess leaf.”

“Wow. That’s going to be something. Can’t wait to see what new horrors that will bring.”

She elbows him. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“It is.” He kisses her hair. “My wife, the published author.”

“Don’t jinx it. I still have to write the book in time.”

“You’re going to,” he says. “I’m not worried.”

“That makes one of us.”

“New leaf, remember? It’s going to be fun.”

She shakes her head, smiling a little. “Sure. Fun.”

*

There’s no particular reason that Clarke’s book should cause any kind of seismic shift in Bellamy’s life, but that’s not really the  _cause_  of the shift, he doesn’t think. It’s hard to not occasionally take a step back and think about where he is and where he’s going, and given what his actual life looks like, it’s pretty easy to feel like a lowkey failure.

Really, the odder thing is that every time he does this, he finds his life is actually in amazingly good shape. He and Clarke might not be great adults, but they’ve cleared more hurdles of adulthood than a lot of his friends have, without even trying. They’re married, they’re homeowners, they have a dog. Bellamy has a steady job in his field, and Clarke has a good gig of her own. They have a savings account that they actually put money into every month. They’re not getting rich, but they’re stable, even upwardly mobile. Against all logic and reason, he thinks he and Clarke are doing well.

Which is honestly what freaks him out the most, and what he doesn’t quite know how to explain to anyone.

“It’s like when you beat a video game and you’re running around doing all the bonus content because you’re not ready to be done yet, but you know you kind of did everything?” is the approach he tries with Miller, who does not look impressed.

“So what you’re saying is you already beat life and now you want the DLC? Yeah, I can see why you don’t want to tell people that.”

“Seriously, you know what I mean, right? I don’t know where we go from here. It’s not bad, just–weird.”

“I feel like the next logical step is kids, but I’ve met you and Clarke and I’m not convinced reproduction is a good idea.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure either. I like kids, but I don’t know if we actually need to have any of our own. I’m amazed we keep the dog alive.”

Miller snorts. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re all shocked about that one.”

“It’s not like I’m complaining. My life is awesome and I’m happy. But it’s weird feeling like I don’t have anything to work for.”

“Promotions,” Miller says. “Another dog, I don’t know. I get it,” he adds. “I’m not there yet, but it makes sense. But dude, it’s like you’ve never even seen  _Tangled_. Find a new dream.”

He pauses. “How many times have you seen  _Tangled_?”

“That movie is fucking  _solid_ ,” says Miller. “Good luck with your stupidly perfect life.”

“Thanks. I’m doing my best with it.”

*

Clarke working on a book honestly isn’t really functionally different from Clarke working on anything else, at least not from what Bellamy can tell. Her hours are as bizarre as ever, and she still has ink-stained fingers and a penchant for falling asleep on anything.

But there is a change in her too, even if it’s harder to detect. She takes the book seriously in a way that she’s never taken anything else seriously, for all she’s always been dedicated to her art. The book means something to her that he hasn’t figured out yet, that he’s not sure how to figure out.

At least, not until his conversation with Miller, after which he asks, “So, is this book like your final boss?”

She’s reviewing some of her old comics to see which she wants to put in, almost completely engrossed. “What?”

“The book. Is it the culmination of your life or something?”

She snorts. “I hope not.”

“It’s something, though. Not that it shouldn’t be, but–”

Finally, she stands, her entire body cracking as she stretches. She’s been sitting on the floor so much he’s starting to worry about the long-term effects on her body. If they didn’t have the dog to force them to go on walks, he’s not sure how much fresh air she’d even get.

“This is a lot, even for you,” he says, and she flops onto the couch next to him.

“Yeah, I know. I think it’s probably residual–it’s an  _assignment_ , and I was a straight-A student. I want to do my best on it. And do extra credit.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t feel quite sufficient. “Have you told your mom about it yet?”

Her discomfort is immediate and obvious as she shifts a little, frowning. Clarke and her mother are on better terms than they were when she and Bellamy first met, but it’s still hard. He remembers from his own childhood how long it can take to recover from a loss like that, how the fallout can sometimes feel even worse than the event, or at least different and awful in its own way. Clarke and her mother don’t want to be enemies, but Clarke likes her life, and he has to admit it doesn’t look great from the outside.

Even from the inside, it can sometimes be pretty grim.

“Not yet. I thought I’d just send it to her when I got author copies or whatever.”

“That won’t be for a while yet.”

“It’s not like we talk that much,” she points out. “I kept it a secret from you and we live together and talk all the time. It’s not going to be hard to not tell my mom. She asks what I’m working on and I say  _the usual_. Which isn’t even a lie,” she adds, before he can try to protest. “Because this is definitely what I always do.”

“It is. I wasn’t going to say that. I just feel like I don’t get how you feel about this book.”

“And you want to understand every feeling I have?”

“No, fuck that. I just don’t like not knowing shit. And this one’s bugging me.”

“It’s not the only thing.” She nudges him with her elbow. “I’ve definitely noticed you acting weird too.”

“Yeah?”

“Not even going to deny it?”

“No. I’m having a weird crisis.”

“Define  _weird crisis_. Do you want to buy a sports car?”

“Not really. But is it weird if I feel like we should be buying something? Or maybe just me, I don’t know.”

“I don’t have enough information to tell you how weird that is. What do you want to buy? Why do you want to buy it? Is this just capitalism?”

“No.” He rubs his face. “Fuck, I don’t know what I want. If I did, I would have bought it already.”

“Oh, wow, this is actually bugging you. I thought you were just being normal grumpy, but this is something different, huh?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s the same as your thing, though. My thing might be the next step, after you finish your book.”

“So this is a grim vision of the future, huh?”

“Learn from me.”

“You need to tell me what I’m learning first.”

“Our lives are awesome and I’m happy, but when I think about–what we’re aiming for in five years, ten years, fuck, thirty years, I have no idea what we’ll be wanting.”

“And that’s bad,” she says, slow.

“It’s weird for me,” he admits. “I think it’s just taken me a while to notice that all of the stuff I used to be working for–I’ve got it now. Good job, steady income, retirement fund. Awesome wife, nice condo, stupid dog. I’m so fucking happy, but it feels like I have everything I want.”

“You definitely don’t,” says Clarke, immediately.

He snorts. “Wow, just like that, huh?”

“I mean, I know what you mean, but what we’ve got is–the big stuff, I guess. The flashy stuff. My dad used to call it the  _money can’t buy happiness_  stuff.”

“Your dad had a name for this?”

“I mean, not  _this_. But the general idea. He said that when people said money can’t buy happiness, they’re taking for granted all the stuff they wouldn’t have if they didn’t have money. Food and shelter and all that. So I’m going to say you are officially at the point where you have all the happiness money can buy.”

“You say that, but I don’t own a private jet.”

She rolls her eyes, as he deserves. “You don’t want a private jet.”

“No, I don’t,” he grants. “So, you’re saying that life is awesome and it’s time for me to find a new place to get validation?”

“Or just find a new hobby. Maybe you could write a book. I don’t know, you can figure it out. But I’m pretty sure in the next thirty years, we’re going to find awesome stuff to do.”

“And you’re going to prove to your mom that your life is good?”

She sighs. “I get that my life doesn’t seem great to her, but her life doesn’t seem great to me either. It would be cool if this book was, like–the intersection of what I think is good and what she does. We can all agree that a book is an accomplishment.”

“It is.” He kisses her hair. “Your mom’s going to be proud of you, no matter what. I’m pretty sure she already is.”

“And you’re going to come up with something new to want to do.” She frowns. “It’s not kids, right? This wasn’t some weird, roundabout way of telling me you think we should have a baby or something, right?”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure we should never reproduce, yeah. Unless you want that.”

She nudges her nose under his jaw. “I think we could just get a bigger place and more pets. If we’re looking for things to aspire to.”

As aspirations go, they feel pretty small, but like Clarke said, they really have all the big stuff. They’re healthy and happy and more well off than they deserve to be. They can’t afford a house  _now_ , but in a few years, if he gets promotions and Clarke’s book does well, it’s probably within the realm of possibility.

“So, I have to find a new dream, huh?” he asks.

“And I have to write an awesome book. As problems go, they’re pretty awesome ones.”

He kisses her hair, smiling. “Yeah, you’re right. I bet we can work through it.”

After all, they are, somehow, good. They’ve got this.


End file.
